Primordial Mother Goddess: Poem

This track is a powerful remembrance of the divine feminine foundation that unites us all. This sacred spoken-word poem invites you to reconnect with the oldest, most foundational spiritual truth of humanity. It is an immersive journey through time, tracing our unbroken connection to the Primordial Mother Goddess—the source of all life, the soul of nature, and the ultimate matrix of renewal.

From the deepest darkness of Paleolithic caves to the Winter Solstice chambers of megalithic stone temples, we have always known her. She is the ecstatic spring bloom, the warm, wet soil, the rhythm of our blood, and the deep void before time began.

This clay figure of a reclining lady was found in one of the pits of the Hypogeum in Hal Saflieni in Malta.

'The Sleeping Lady of Malta' Photographer: Rob Koopman from Leiderdorp, Netherlands,

Transcript

Primordial Mother Goddess She is the primordial mother, Source of life, Soul of nature. Within her womb all worlds are woven and birthed. She is the endless miracle of renewal, The ecstasy of a seed, A chorus of buds on the first morning of spring. Her breath is the wetness and warmth of fecund soil, Her generosity the sun, Her beauty the luminous moon. She is the universe's deepest truth, Humanity's first and only whole religion. She centres children, Nature, Indigenous wisdom. She centres love. She has been with us for tens of thousands of years. Our relationship with her is an umbilical cord never cut. Her sacraments are menstrual blood, Birth blood, The end of blood at menopause. No matter our bodies decay at death, Her embrace remains. She has no face, She is all faces. She is too much herself to take a final name. She is the gut of the void, The depth of the ocean. She is the quake of realisation that awakens the unseen. Before the first dawn she was, We began to know her when we shaped nature into culture. In the deepest darkness of the Palaeolithic night, We gathered close around her first fire. By the flicker of tallow, We invoked her genesis. We carved her ancient yoni into limestone walls packed with scarlet ochre. We shaped her from ivory with heavy breasts and full thighs, Our first portable sanctuaries. We held her in our palms, Hung her from our necks. Then the ice broke and we followed her greening path, Settling into the mud and thatch of first villages. Our homes were temples, Every threshold and hearth her altar. She was the Neolithic bird goddess marked with chevrons peering from our rafters. With clay beak and wide, Watchful eyes. She blessed our rain and water jars with the promise of the fluidity of life. We built massive stones into the shape of her body. Megalithic wombs and tombs aligned to the frieze of winter. We felt her wait with us for the low sun to pierce the long dark passage and impregnate the subterranean bedrock with golden light. On clay urns, We painted her as the coiled winding serpent, Tracked the shedding of her skin and her eternal return. We hung the wild bull's horns to our plaster walls to honour the crescent moon and woman's uterus in a single sign. We are not made in her image, But from her foundation. We are one with her. Our essence, One eternal current of life snaking through the fabric of creation. And the cosmos. Her arms are as open as the earth's. We are her children of dirt, Her swarm sticky with nectar and pleasure. She is our ever loving. We are her creatures. She feeds us mouth on mouth.